


nights like this

by bluelines



Category: Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: Clarkson Cup Final, F/F, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelines/pseuds/bluelines
Summary: Boston wins the Clarkson Cup and Meghan gets a congratulatory text that surprises her. She runs with it, because she feels like going on a win streak.





	nights like this

**Author's Note:**

> Just another one of these. Kind of hard to get tired of a rivals-to-lovers arc, eh? For context, [this](http://ofwings.tumblr.com/post/178450384152) happened during the Clarkson Cup playoffs that season.

Meghan should not have Gillian’s number.

And, if she’s being honest, she’s not expecting Gillian to text and congratulate her. She really should just say thank you and move on, but she’s a little tipsy on cheap champagne, so she’s feeling just reckless enough to cap off her night with something truly out there. But then, how out there is it _really_?

‘You here?’ she responds. Gillian takes a few minutes to answer, during which Meghan starts to second-guess herself. Kacey’s in the shower, but Meghan’s up next, and afterwards she can do what she wants; her parents will have gone to sleep by now, and she’s sure she could find a way to get out of whatever her teammates are going to get themselves into.

‘Toronto,’ Gillian responds, ‘thirty minutes away. Why?’

Meghan thinks about it. She thinks longer and harder about it than she needs to, really. The fact is that if she sends a risky text now, she can joke later about being drunk, say it was a prank, whatever she needs to do to get Apps off her back, if she’s wrong and it becomes Team Canada gossip. And if she’s right--

She’s pretty sure she’s right. 

‘Wanna buy me a drink?’ 

Gillian doesn’t answer right away. Kacey comes out of the bathroom shrouded in steam, in a pair of skinny jeans and a v-neck. She’s not wearing a bra, which tells Meghan one major thing, before Kacey even opens her mouth to say it:

“I’m getting laid tonight.”

“Nice,” Meghan laughs, “who?”

“I dunno,” Kacey says, “but she’s gonna have a great night. You coming with me?”

Meghan hesitates just a second too long.

“Oh,” Kacey says, “you’re already all set up, huh?”

“I’m just efficient,” Meghan says, “don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“As long as the game isn’t anyone I know, I don’t care,” Kacey admits. Meghan gets up to fix her hair so that Kacey won’t see the expression on her face that would _definitely_ betray her. Kacey doesn’t know Gillian. Kacey knows of Gillian. There’s a difference.

When Gillian answers, it’s just the address of a bar. Meghan grins, feeling the prickle of excitement down the back of her neck, the same rush as when she steps onto the ice.

“Kace,” Meghan says, “the hotel room is mine tonight.”

-

She has some trouble figuring out what to wear. She hadn’t brought enough clothes--hadn’t been expecting this--but luckily she fits in Kacey’s clothes. Kacey’s v-neck is skin-tight on her, but it’s what she wants. That, with her skinny jeans, is exactly the look she wanted to cultivate. When she takes off her winter coat, Gillian will get an eyeful. 

When she comes inside, Gillian is already at the bar. Meghan hesitates just to watch her for a moment. She’s got a beer, and she’s holding it even though she’s not actively drinking it; it’s a normal sized can but her hand makes it look tiny. That’s what spurs Meghan into action, crossing the room and joining Gillian, who turns to look at her when she does.

“Hi,” Meghan says, peeling off her winter coat. Gillian’s eyes do exactly what she expected: widen, dip to her cleavage, and then return politely to her face. That’s all she needed. Now she knows Gillian is aware of what this is, in case she had any questions. And hopefully Gillian will be thinking about touching her all night. That’s the kind of hunger Meghan’s looking for.

“Congratulations,” Gillian says. 

“Thank you,” Meghan replies, settling onto the stool. “Did you watch?”

“What do you want to drink?” Gillian asks, sliding the cocktail menu over. Meghan almost laughs at how obviously Gillian doesn’t want to talk to her about the game, but instead she looks the menu over and makes her selection. 

“A martini,” Meghan decides.

“Shaken, not stirred,” Gillian continues, and Meghan laughs.

“Do I seem like a Bond type? That’s a great compliment.”

Gillian sips her beer, but she maintains eye contact, and Meghan drops her hand to Gillian’s knee under the bar just to see what will happen. What happens is nothing; Gillian orders her drink for her and doesn’t acknowledge Meghan’s hand on her knee. The self-control is hot. Meghan doesn’t think she would be as into it if Gillian had been flustered right away. She wants to work for that.

“Wouldn’t that make me the Bond villain?” Gillian asks.

Meghan considers it for a second, but she already knows the answer. 

 

“No,” Meghan says, “you’re not scary.”

Gillian laughs. For a brief second Meghan feels made fun of, and she takes her hand back. When she does, Gillian looks at her, and her expression softens, and Meghan is completely thrown.

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” Gillian admits.

“Well,” Meghan says, “it’s true. Besides, tonight you’re the Bond girl.”

Gillian raises her eyebrows and lifts her drink.

“Cheers.”

-

Talking to Gillian is easy. They talk a little about the league, about hockey generally, but more about their lives, which makes it feel like a date. Meghan moves bit by bit until her knee bumps against Gillian’s leg, and it’s not long after that when Gillian drops her hand to Meghan’s thigh. Meghan loves that, loves the size of Gillian’s hand and the fact that anyone looking at them knows that they’re there together. There’s the afterthought of fear in the back of her mind that someone might actually recognize them, but she’s had enough to drink that she’s not that concerned about it, and it’s not really that likely, anyway.

Plus, what’s the worst that could happen? She’s warm and close to Gillian and she’s a Clarkson Cup champion. 

“Hey,” Meghan says. She’s interrupting Gillian, but she was distracted and hadn’t heard the first half of the sentence, anyway. “You wanna get out of here? My hotel is pretty close.”

-

It’s a short, brisk walk to the hotel. Meghan realizes she wants to hold Gillian’s hand, and then redirects and understands that what she really wants is to see Gillian’s hand again, ideally somewhere on her body. They’re not walking terribly close together. It’s essentially platonic, except that Meghan is thinking about the kind of damage Gillian’s fingers could do.

When they get to her room, Gillian suddenly gets much closer. She’s half breathing down Meghan’s neck while Meghan swipes her room key.

“Who’s your roommate?” Gillian asks.

“Bells,” Meghan says.

“She’s the Bond villain,” Gillian decides, toeing off her shoes carefully the moment she’s inside the room.

“Oh my God,” Meghan says, “how quaint and Canadian of you.”

“You wear your shoes to fuck someone?” Gillian asks, and the sound Meghan makes is something in the neighborhood of being a laugh. 

She wants to hear Gillian say it again. She wants to hear Gillian narrate everything she does while her hands cover every inch of Meghan’s body. Meghan kicks off her shoes and very purposefully does not do it carefully, leaving them strewn just anywhere. Gillian crosses the room and leans down as if to kiss her, but she stops short of actually doing it and opens her eyes. Meghan’s mouth is open; she was anticipating the kiss and now she just looks desperate, hands clenching at her sides. Gillian is loving it. She grins, and Meghan imagines it behind a cage after a goal. It feels like the same kind of energy. 

Gillian leans in again, their noses brush, Meghan’s mouth falls open again and she reaches for Gillian, grasping blindly at her coat. Gillian still doesn’t kiss her.

“Fuck,” Meghan says.

 _Then_ Gillian kisses her. 

It’s perfect. It’s hungry, but Gillian is so controlled, it makes Meghan more desperate with every second. Gillian doesn’t touch her at first, but when she does she lifts her hands gently to Meghan’s cheeks, and Meghan breathes in through her nose to keep the kiss going. Gillian’s hands are warm and her lips are soft and Meghan wants all of her as quickly as possible.

Some part of her wonders if she should have a little pride and come across less needy. The rest of her is uninterested in playing that game. She leans against Gillian, who ends up being the one to break the kiss. She takes a breath and pushes Meghan’s coat over her shoulders; Meghan does the same to Gillian’s, leaving her hands on Gillian’s broad shoulders and imagining what she’ll look like without her shirt on. 

“I was thinking about this,” Meghan admits, because she wants to see how Gillian reacts. Nothing happens; Gillian’s eyes are on her cleavage again. 

“The other day,” Meghan says, “when we played. I was thinking about this. You.”

“And you guys still won,” Gillian says, “clearly I’m not doing my job.”

“What’s your job?” Meghan asks, “to make me think about you?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Gillian murmurs. She finally makes a move, tugging Meghan’s collar away from her neck, bending her head to suck at Meghan’s collarbone. She’s not doing anything that would leave a mark, but even the gentle scrape of her teeth has Meghan’s knees a little weak. 

“I don’t think you’re doing this to win anything,” Meghan admits, and Gillian grips her hips tightly in response. 

Meghan is definitely winning when Gillian leans back to kiss her again and slides her hand up to cup Meghan’s breasts before she’s even gotten the v-neck off. This is exactly why Meghan took Kacey’s shirt, exactly what she wanted, and Gillian’s hands are _perfect_. Meghan gets ahead of herself, imagining this but without all their clothes, and makes an embarrassing noise against Gillian’s mouth. So maybe she’s not winning. They can call it even.

Meghan breaks the kiss to pull the shirt over her head. Gillian doesn’t take hers off, but Meghan ducks away from the kiss when Gillian reaches for her again. She touches Gillian’s stomach, just under her sweater, then tucks her fingers just beneath Gillian’s waistband.

“I wanna see,” she says.

Gillian takes off her sweater. Meghan slides her hands along Gillian’s shoulders and biceps, leaning in for another kiss. Gillian kisses back only for a few seconds before she pulls away and pushes Meghan back towards the bed. Luckily, it’s Meghan’s, not that she cares, but she’s sure that Kacey would. She stumbles back and has barely landed on the bed before Gillian has landed on top of her, their bodies pressed together. 

When Gillian kisses her again, the kiss is deep and messy, and Meghan loves it. She touches Gillian’s shoulders again and this time she can feel the muscle moving under her palms. Gillian kneels between her thighs and braces herself on one hand, reaching for Meghan’s thigh with the other and hiking Meghan’s leg over her hip.

“Honestly,” Gillian says when she breaks the kiss again, pressing one hand low against Meghan’s stomach, “I was thinking about this too. After you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Meghan wriggles under her, lifting her hips and angling them to try to get some friction against the front of Gillian’s jeans.

“Thinking about what?” she asks, tangling a hand in Gillian’s hair.

Gillian doesn’t answer. Instead she sits back on her heels and pushes Meghan’s hips into the bed with both hands, holding her in place. Meghan inhales sharply, grasping at the comforter under her hands. 

When Gillian is satisfied that Meghan is staying put, she unbuckles Meghan’s jeans. She tries to fit her hand down the front of them, but they’re too tight. Meghan squeaks. It’s a sound that she means to be sexier, a sound that’s supposed to show her frustration, but it just comes out lame. Gillian doesn’t seem to notice. She’s as desperate to get her hand down Meghan’s pants as Meghan is to feel Gillian’s hand against her. Meghan lifts her hips and Gillian jerks her jeans down her thighs, only barely getting them over Meghan’s knees before she drops herself back down onto one elbow and kisses Meghan again.

It’s a mess, but it’s the best kind of mess. Meghan kicks her jeans down over her ankles and has only just gotten them off when Gillian’s hand appears between her legs. Meghan grips Gillian’s shoulders, anticipating a lot, but she could not have prepared herself. Gillian hesitates, the tips of her fingers just brushing over Meghan’s underwear.

“Can I take these off?” she asks. She _asks_. 

“Hold on,” Meghan says, wriggling under her. Gillian’s hand rests against her inner thigh. She can see that Gillian’s worried, thinking she’s overstepped somehow, which is absurd because they both know Meghan brought her here to fuck her senseless. But it’s also kind of endearing, even more so when Meghan unhooks her bra and tosses it away and Gillian goes bright red.

“Yeah,” Meghan says, placing her hands back on Gillian’s shoulders. When Gillian hesitates again, Meghan adds, “I want you to.”

It’s a completely different vibe than it has been the rest of the time, a completely different Gillian than Meghan was expecting, but Gillian’s hesitancy actually turns Meghan on more. She can’t riddle that out now, but she files it away for later, while Gillian slides her index finger into the crotch of Meghan’s underwear and tugs them down.

Gillian kisses her again when she strokes her fingers against Meghan, who groans into that kiss and threads a hand in Gillian’s hair again. She’d noticed Gillian’s hair before, mostly to notice her flow under the helmet, but Gillian’s hair is also the perfect length for this. She’s not in any way embarrassed by how badly she wants Gillian, and she’s glad Gillian can feel it now, glad Gillian has no reasons left to doubt. It shows, because Gillian stops hesitating. 

Meghan has been thinking about Gillian’s fingers all night. She’s thrilled to learn that they’re exactly as good as she imagined. When Gillian slides into her she gasps, throwing her head back, arching against the mattress. Gillian mouths against her throat, and when she drags her teeth across Meghan’s skin, Meghan clamps her knees against Gillian’s hips. 

“God,” she murmurs, clinging to the back of Gillian’s neck. 

Gillian grins against her jaw and shifts down on the bed, down along Meghan’s body. She’s still moving her hand when she starts to trail kisses along Meghan’s collarbones again, and when she dips lower Meghan realizes she’s not prepared. The heat of Gillian’s mouth against her skin when she presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of Meghan’s breast makes Meghan jump under her, and every muscle in her body goes tight all at once. With her arm around Gillian’s shoulders, she ends up pulling Gillian down against her. Gillian rolls with it, using her free hand to hold her up just enough so she can drag her lower lip across Meghan’s nipple, like she knows that anything more will be too much.

Meghan loses track of time after that. Gillian keeps teasing with her mouth while the hand between Meghan’s legs moves steadily, and the occasional brush of Gillian’s thumb has Meghan squirming. She’s not being quiet, but she doesn’t care. It’s a hotel, and if her teammates aren’t expecting something like this, they’re crazy.

Gillian closes her mouth around Meghan’s nipple, moves her thumb in one quick, brisk circle, and just like that Meghan’s falling apart around her. It goes on and on and on, Meghan clawing at Gillian’s back and realizing that her nails might be a little bit long, Gillian nosing along her chest, then along her neck.

Meghan is still trembling when Gillian withdraws her hand and braces both on either side of Meghan’s shoulders. She dips down to kiss Meghan again, half doing a push up, and Meghan laughs in exasperation against Gillian’s lips. She does what Gillian wants, running her hands up and down Gillian’s arms, and then she digs her knee into Gillian’s hip and flips them.

“Good?” Gillian asks, placing her hands on Meghan’s thighs. 

“Gonna ruin your jeans,” Meghan observes, trailing her fingertip along the cup of Gillian’s bra.

“I can afford to dry clean them,” Gillian offers.

Meghan leans down to kiss her. She does that for a while before she slides back onto her heels and unbuckles Gillian’s belt. She thumbs the button of Gillian’s jeans open, and where Gillian was moving quickly she takes her time, tugging Gillian’s jeans down inch by inch, pressing kisses to Gillian’s (frankly absurd) thighs. She wants to bury herself between them and stay there for hours. 

“Tell me what you want,” Meghan mumbles against Gillian’s hipbone, resting on her hands and knees between Gillian’s legs. 

Gillian touches Meghan’s cheek. It’s an alarmingly tender gesture before her hand moves into Meghan’s hair and she tugs, just a little, just to see. Meghan blinks up at Gillian through her lashes.

“Your fingers,” Gillian decides out loud, and Meghan groans. She rockets up the bed and shoves her hand beneath Gillian to unhook her bra. It takes her an embarrassingly long time, but Gillian doesn’t chirp her about it. She seems almost surprised when Meghan brings her hand up to palm one of Gillian’s breasts, and Meghan can’t imagine why. She almost says something about it, but there are better things she could be doing with her mouth. She doesn’t get Gillian’s underwear off, just replaces her mouth with her hand and slips her hand beneath Gillian’s underwear. Gillian is very still at first, holding her breath. 

“Gotta breathe,” Meghan points out, lifting her head.

“Shut up,” Gillian laughs. 

This time Gillian breathes, and Meghan realizes that the reason she wasn’t is because she was trying to be quiet. She’s still quiet, much quieter than Meghan, but now Meghan can hear Gillian’s breathing changing, can hear it when Gillian makes a soft, halting noise the same moment that Meghan pulls her head back, like the very beginnings of asking for more. Meghan wants that, wants to hear Gillian ask her, but she doesn’t ask. 

She moves to kiss Gillian, but Gillian can’t multitask. She tries, but she just can’t keep the kiss up while Meghan’s hand is moving between her legs, and Meghan grins against Gillian’s mouth. Gillian seems like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t, just reaches back up to tug a hand through Meghan’s hair again. Clearly it’s something she likes. Luckily for her it’s something Meghan likes, too. She straddles Gillian’s thigh to give her hand more room between Gillian’s leg, and she’s not expecting it but Gillian places her foot flat on the bed and props her knee up.

The change in angle is a lot of friction for Meghan, who groans against Gillian’s neck, working her hips against Gillian’s thigh in time with the hand between Gillian’s legs. Gillian drops her hand from Meghan’s hair and wraps both arms around Meghan’s waist, pulling Meghan down on top of her again. The angle isn’t as good for Meghan, but Gillian holding onto her feels right. Gillian’s arms tighten around her when she gets close, and Meghan wants that moment to last for hours. It doesn’t, though; Gillian’s grip on Meghan slackens when she comes, and she makes the most noise she has the whole time, gasping quietly in the silence of the hotel room. 

Meghan knows she could still get off like this, against Gillian’s thigh, but it seems like asking for too much. She sits up but doesn’t move, just places her hand on Gillian’s chest to feel it heaving under her palm. Gillian opens her eyes when she’s done shaking, and Meghan isn’t sure what to say for the first time all night. Gillian doesn’t speak--Meghan was banking on that--but she does reach out and touch, rubbing her thumb across a mark she left on Meghan’s sternum. 

She ghosts her palm over Meghan’s breast, then down over her ribs. When she grips Meghan’s hips with both hands, Meghan licks her lips.

Gillian uses her hands on Meghan’s hips to move Meghan in her lap, sliding Meghan against her hipbone. Meghan gasps, placing her hands on Gillian’s stomach, and then laughs, because Gillian knew _exactly_ what she wanted. It doesn’t feel like the first time. It feels like they’ve been doing this for years, somehow.

Meghan braces herself on one hand next to Gillian’s shoulder and tosses her hair out of her face, over her shoulder, so Gillian can see her when she comes. She wants that, wants GIllian to see it, wants Gillian to remember. Her other hand is on Gillian’s shoulder, and she ends up digging her nails into Gillian’s skin again, panting audibly. She’s only just recovered when her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She doesn’t have to check to know that Kacey’s on her way back. She just _knows_.

Gillian seems to, too.

“Guess I’m out of here,” she says. Meghan sits back on her heels, reaching for the elastic around her wrist so she can tie up her hair.

“Seems unfair that you only got one when I got two,” Meghan says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gillian says. Meghan stands up and loves how wobbly her legs are when she does. She pulls a t-shirt over her head and slips into a pair of shorts. When she turns around, Gillian’s almost half-dressed, like she’s panicking and trying to leave as fast as possible.

“Hey,” Meghan says, “I’ll make it up to you sometime.”

Gillian looks up, startled, like she’d forgotten Meghan was there. 

“Yeah?” she asks.

“Sure,” Meghan says, “whenever we’re in the same place again. Or...whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want,” Gillian says, like she’s trying it on for size. She grins suddenly, and it honest to God takes Meghan’s breath away. It’s almost definitely just the back to back orgasms. 

“Yeah,” Meghan says.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gillian says, getting to her feet. Meghan wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t. Gillian smiles at her again, brushing just past on her way out the door. Meghan flops back onto her bed, right on top of the messed-up covers, and stares at the shabby ceiling, grinning to himself. 

Kacey opens the door way sooner than she should have. Meghan hadn’t checked, but she thought she had more time--if Kacey is here now, chances are good that she knows what’s up.

Meghan can tell from the look on her face that she does.

“Was that Gillian Apps I just passed in the hallway?” she asks, the second she busts into the room. Meghan sits up against the headboard. The bed is still warm from where she and Gillian were on it. She really needs a shower--another shower.

“Who am I to tell you what you saw?” Meghan says.

“Jesus Christ,” Kacey says cheerfully, “ _This_ , I gotta hear.”


End file.
